The wolf and the Dragon
by dancewiththedragons
Summary: "I will be king one day... No, soon," he smirks "I will be the king that they want, a true king. It's what I was born to do, what I was born to be."


**Well, another new story... This is my attempt at a Kingdom hearts X Game of thrones crossover. It might not be the greatest and I suck at making titles, so here you go... If you like both Kingdom hearts and A song of ice and fire.**

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Prologue

It was quiet in Mole's town tonight, a thick fog had fell over the town and the air was icey cold. Demyx shivered, the thick wool cloak and wolf pelt weren't enough to keep him warm, he was a Summer man, not fit for the Winter, he was not prepared for the cold. Many folks had told him that you had to be born a Northener to be able to survive when winter came, and it seemed they were right. The nights grew darker and colder, a sign that the long summer was ending.

"Winter is coming..." He muttered the Stark words under his breath, he had the pleasure of meeting the Stark family on his journey here. Lord Stark had not been the most welcoming, but his sister had insisted that Demyx play at the feast. She was a beautiful girl, he remembered, with long midnight coloured hair and icey blue eyes, but her smile was warm and kind. Her brother was different though, he was cold and Calculating with an X-shaped scar between his golden yellow eyes. He had never smiled, not even once during Demyx's visit to Winterfell, the way he had looked at him made him sick, and those yellow eyes and X-shaped scar had come back in his nightmares.

_'The Bolton's of the Dreadfort are worse,' _he thought, but the thought of the Bolton's had not made him feel better either. He plucked a few strings on his lute, a smile crossing his lips as the tune echoed in the air.

"A bear there was, a bear, A BEAR! All black and brown, and covered with hair!" His words rang through air and echoed off the stone buildings. As he walked along the road, he continued to play his lute, humming happily along with the tune. His journey to the North had been a long and tiring one, he longed for a featherbed after sleeping on the forest ground for most of his journey.

That night when went to sleep he dreamt of the haunted forest. He dashes past the trees, his nose picking up the scent of something, or someone. He stops at the trunk of a great Weirwood tree, the face on the trunk staring back at him. High up in a branch, the crow waited, when it turned it's head, the third eye gleamed in the moonlight. It seems to see Demyx, and then it leaps from the branch taking flight, he follows, making his way through the forest past the wildling villages.

Hours passed by but it only seemed like seconds, he had stopped to see a few Night's watch brothers resting around a fire. They had not seen him, he moved as quiet as a ghost between the trees. The three eyed crow waited on a tree branch and it took flight again, snow starting to fall.

That was when they saw him, he wore all black, the hood of his cloak shadowing his face. He was on the back of a great big Elk, like he was in Demyx's dream. Except, he didn't know if this was dream or if he was really in the wolf's skin, but this must have been him, Coldhands. The last Greenseer, and the Three eyed crow had led him here.

Quietly, he approaches him, the Elk never even flinched when he moved closer to him. The Greenseer had turned his head, observing the forest around him. Demyx froze when he saw something move past the trees, the trees sighing as the cold wind rustled the leaves. From the distance, he could see the blue glowing eyes stare back at him, he growled, shackles raised, bearing his teeth.

A shrill scream had caused the cloaked Greenseer to turn the great elk around and run. Demyx snarled, bounding the way he had come from. There was a cry of pain not far away from where Rangers had been, the world seems like a white blur around him as he runs through the forest. The air seemed to grow even colder as the night grew darker, and then there were more screams, terrified and shrill, he coudl smell blood.

The fire had died down when he got there, and around it, the body of the rangers layed. Their blood had turned the snow around them red, one layed with his intestines hanging out his belly, the others were slaughtered just as gruesomly. He sniffed the corpse, a fresh kill. The smell was awful and he remembered teh unwritten warg code of the wildlings 'Do not eat of human meat'. He was told this when had lived beyond the wall, but being a skin changer had scared him. He was always scared a boy, and this was why he had left his group of free folk to travel Westeros instead.

From time to time, he would slip into the skin of cats and dogs, but it had been a long time since he was in a wolf. He was told that he was a strong skin changer, and most of them could not slip into a wolf's skin so easily. But he had not wanted to be a wolf, and he had not wanted to be a wildling. But he was one, a wildling to the bone, as the other free folk would tell him.

He turns away from the body, but a figure stands amongst the others, his blue eyes glowed in the darkness and the sword he held glinted with blood. He raises the sword, and Demyx whimpers, running away, his thoughts of the Three eyed crow and Cold Hands forgotten. Just as he thought he had gotten away, the blade cuts through him, the last thing he had saw was a white walker with a black eye patch and a scar on his left cheek.


End file.
